Swan Song
by LaughLikeTheJoker
Summary: Dorothea had made a big mistake. A huge terrible mistake that meant her whole world had imploded and people were out for her head. There was only one way she could get out of this mess alive; there was only one person that could help her, and that person was the one and only Thomas Shelby.
1. Prologue: Dorothea

Prologue

 **Dorothea**

 **Her favourite time of day was when the night was at its blackest.**

It made things easier.

It was easier to become the ghost that she was. Unattached from this world and watching on the sidelines, across the street from an unsuspecting young couple too caught up in each other to see her.

Or walking through an alleyway that had become the setting to an unfortunate souls untimely end by a bullet or a blade just minutes ago.

Or sitting on a slate roof as close to the moon as possible so it could tell her the secrets it had seen.

With a sigh Dorothea rose to her feet. She rolled up her sleeves and then pushed them back down before beginning to pace along the shingled slope. Below her the Dirtyhands boys were hooting and hollering in the courtyard, they were celebrating a birthday of the bosses little brother and she had no intention to go and join them. She had made that perfectly clear by kicking down some of the roof tiles in warning every time they tried to coax her down. She worked for them, but that didn't mean she was one of them.

The weather that night was uncharacteristically warm and humid. Her coat and vest had been discarded in a shadowy lump beside her with her leather gloves neatly placed on top, trousers rolled up to her calves and blouse unbuttoned as low as possible without showing off too much of her breasts, just enough to allow the sticky skin the chance to breathe while she hoped for a cooling breeze.

She had little care for the opinions of those who did every now and then catch a glimpse of her in such attire. Logically it would be far more outrageous for her to scale a wall or climb a rooftop in a flowery dress and heels than don men's clothing. Besides, she had given a significant amount of money from her coffer to the seamstress around the block to make sure her suits were tailored to a more feminine shape.

As she stretched over to her coat pocket to retrieve a cigarette and light, she watched the men and their women of the night below her, absentmindedly noting how much they resembled ants, scurrying around in search for something sweet, be it money to gamble away, a woman to bed or a bottle to empty.

Oh how she wished they were as disposable as ants, if only she could be rid of them by a step of a boot, but she was under contract, she was indebted and for now there was nothing she could do but suck it up and deal with it because it was a better life than her previous one.

Wasn't it?

 _It had to be._ Dorothea scratched her scalp, continuing till her fingers brushed all the way through her hair, leaving the fine strands at the base of her neck and wiping away the beads of sweat. It was times like this when she was glad that her hair had been given the chop, long locks in this weather would have had her suffocating.

She had took to walking back and forth along the edge of the roofline, blowing puffs of smoke in the air and imagining she was a circus girl performing a tightrope act, she knew that atleast someone from below was watching her, and she wondered if it would be wise to perform a showing flip or handstand to either entertain them or unsettle them. Then she wondered if it was the heat that had caused such a ridiculous idea. Dorothea laughed at herself, flicking ash over the edge of the roof and then maneuvered to head back up to the top of the slope.

She paused hearing footsteps coming closer from below.

"Come down from your nest bird, boss wants a word." The voice was half slurred, drunk and if she had cared she would have matched it to a name, but she only remembered their names when it was important.

Dorothea nodded, then unsure if they could pick out the gesture in the darkness when alcohol had hindered their capabilities; she raised her hand with the glowing cigarette butt, signalling to them then snuffing it out and then moving to fix her disheveled appearance. The coat was left where it was, she was too hot and she could always collect it later.

"He hasn't got all night you know!" Another yelled, and she rolled her eyes at their drunken impatience- it had only been 1 minute and 47 seconds. Before they could complain again she decided against using the fire exit or the piping to make her exit. Instead she was throwing herself over the edge, whilst one of the two sent to fetch her muttered 'fucksake' and the other said ' jesus'.

She struck the ground in front of them elegantly, knees bent into a crouch before she stretched up on her tiptoes and then planted her feet firmly on the floor.

She followed them through the wide set doors of the club that was known as their base of operations, allowed them to lead her towards the staircase that led to the boss' office and that was when they had stopped.

Alone. He wanted to speak to her alone.

Unease started to settle upon her but she refused to show it, plastering a grin on her face and hoping her lipstick had been smudged just enough to make her look scary but not insane.

Then she ascended the staircase, wrapping a gloved hand along the bannister while she glided up. At the top of the staircase she followed the carpeted floor to the office doors which were closed shut, forgetting her smile as she sucked in a breath, turned the handle and pushed.

"There's my Hawk." Benedict Hayle looked up at her, seated behind his desk as she entered the small space. His gleaming grin was just as grating on her nerves as his voice, which never seemed to change tone or pitch no matter what his mood was.

"Boys told me you had a job." Dorothea stated nonchalantly, gingerly picking up an antique hand mirror from a shelf of collectibles and examining her appearance. Her skin was shiny and a cold bath beckoned her, but she had to survive whatever this was first. She scrutinised her features in the mirror once more; a calm and collected mask, well that was a start.

Benedict's grin grew and he ran his fingers through angelic gold hair, a deceitful contrast to the truth in his soulless blackish brown eyes that were fixed on her as if her facade would start to peel away and crack if he lingered on her long enough. She had no doubt that eventually it would. Then he stretched back, swinging on the back legs of his chair, hands hitting the table with a loud smack as he pulled himself to his feet.

Dorothea didn't allow herself to flinch.

"Drink?" He asked, pouring two glasses of an amber liquid from a pitcher without even waiting for an answer.

She didn't even want a drink, she just wanted to know what the godawful job was going to be, she knew it was going to be hellish because he was keeping her waiting, he enjoyed how irritated she got when she was left waiting in suspense. And he would always wait the longest when the jobs were the worst.

But still Dorothea couldn't deny him, so she gingerly accepted the glass when he pushed it towards her, muttering a thanks and then inspecting it. She swirled the liquid looking for a sheen of discolouration, lifted it to her nose to try and catch a foreign scent.

He watched her as she went through the motions of habitually checking for poison in her drink, touching the amber liquid with the tip of her tongue, then sipping a small amount and gargling it before finally deeming it safe to swallow.

"Good girl." He praised, like she was a pet that was performing a nifty little trick. She glared at him as he smirked and downed his own drink, because that was exactly what she was in a way; his little bird of prey, his pet.

"Should be a fun little job for you this one." Benedict said after a short while, wiping the sweat from his brow and stepping nearer. She didn't like the look on his face as he said that.

"Oh?" She cocked her head with mild interest, hoping it wouldn't be mistaken for worry.

"Nothing too hard Hawk, just need some information, all you need to do is sneak into The Ice pala-"

"That's funny I could have sworn you were just about to say you wanted me to sneak into The Ice Palace." Dorothea joked to keep the mood light, to fool herself into thinking that place had no hold on her anymore, that she could say it's name without shuddering. She had managed not to shake but a knot twisted her stomach and she suddenly felt dizzy.

"I did. Problem?" He raised an eyebrow and it disappeared under the sweaty blonde curtain on his head. Benedict's jaw clenched and she knew this was where she was supposed to back down.

But she couldn't.

Dorothea was furious, she was disgusted. The Ice palace of all places, and he expected her to not have a problem? Of course she had a fucking problem, that place was the cause of all of her god damn problems.

"No. I can't do it- not the Ice palace, I can't go back there."

Her head shook feverishly and she cursed herself for dropping guard so quickly, this was exactly what he expected wasn't it? She looked up at him and saw he was furious, and expectant. Benedict was waiting for her to apologise, waiting for her to remember she was his and then accept the job dutifully like she had with others before. _But this wasn't like the others, he was sending her back into hell._

Standing up straight she swallowed and mustered as much ferocity as she could.

"I won't do it. Not the Ice palace, get yourself another thief, or in this case idiot."

"You don't have a choice, you know that." Benedict's monotone voice seethed maliciously, he took a step closer to her and she had to force every fiber of her physical being to stay rooted in place.

"Don't have a choice?" Her words spiked and she could hide her terror no longer.

"If I go back there do you really think Winter would let me walk back out? I'd be dead! I'd lose everything i've worked to achieve, i'd lose my life Ben-"

Dorothea was slammed into a wall, smacking her head and she gasped at the sudden impact, not able to recover as the air she was trying to reclaim was trapped by the hand around her throat and it was bruising, crushing, leaving her dizzy and frantic. The glass in her hand fell to the ground with a shatter, sending soaked fractals and the remainder of the whisky spreading across the floor.

She fumbled with her hands, roaming over her hips and searching frantically. _Shit. She'd left her daggers in her coat._

He had said something but she couldn't make out what it was. The sound rattled around in Dorothea's head, distant and muffled compared to the blood ringing in her ears, the burning emptiness in her lungs.

He growled unhappily and pushed her higher up the wall. A hiss left her mouth between her gasping and her gloved fingers clawed at his hands, his arms, and her feet which had been lifted off the ground kicked out as she tried to escape.

A hand moved to her hair, pulling her head back and forcing her to look at him.

"I need someone who knows the ins and outs of that place to get in, get my documents and give them to me. No one knows that place like you do."

Benedict's face was angry and mottled through the black spots tainting her vision, her eyes streamed with hot tears as she struggled for air, as she struggled to tell him to let her go.

"I bought you, took you from that place, and helped you build yourself a legend. That means you do what I tell you." He snarled in her ear, and she let out a pathetic sound of a strangled whimper as her vision started to blur even more.

"So, you're going to sneak into The Ice palace, you're not going to get caught, then you can come back here and maybe just maybe I might consider that the end of your debt and you can go fuck off to wherever the hell you wanna go."

"Cause if you don't i'll hand you over to Winter free of charge and you can go back to being a filthy whore."

He released his grip then, tossing her like a useless doll and she fell back limply, on the verge of unconsciousness. Using the remainders of her strength to keep herself propped up against the wall, she glowered, tenderly lifting her hands to her throat as she feverishly gasped, feeding her starving lungs much needed air.

A pouch of money was tossed at her feet and she fixed her stare on it, seething and not wanting to look at the bastards face.

"Get your shit together by tomorrow night." Was the last thing he said before leaving the office, slamming the door shut with such ferocity that it shook on it's hinges and rattled the wall.

Knowing she wouldn't be bothered by anyone for the next few hours, she let the tears fall and started to sob. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill them all and just be free of them.

* * *

 **A/N: So, a little bit of backstory for you on my oc the lovely Dorothea, before we meet the Peaky Blinders. I tried to do something a little different to whats already out there and I hope you guys like it, feel free to let me know your thoughts!**

 **-LLTJ**


	2. Tommy

**A/N: I just want to say thanks to all of you who have reviewed, followed and favourited :D  
It's good to hear you guys are liking what i'm putting out, and i love hearing from you all :) **

**Hope you like this next chapter!**

* * *

 **Tommy**

 **Tommy Shelby was more than aware that he wasn't alone.** Someone had been following him since he'd been by the canal. He had paused for the slightest of moments, to light a cigarette and to listen. There was no footsteps but he heard a barely distinguishable sound: a small breath.

He didn't look over his shoulder, just kept walking straight.

Tommy Shelby didn't show unease.

His hand rested on the gun tucked in his vest should he need it. He continued down the path, eventually dropping his hand from his gun when trickles of familiar faces passed him by under the hazy glowing street lamps. They all greeted him with smiles and waves and nods of their heads, muttering 'Good night Mr Shelby' and he gave a slight nod in return. That was when his silent pursuer had started to tug at his edges.

Whoever it was; had to the oblivious eye, mastered invisibility.

The few men and women left on the streets couldn't see whoever was following him, couldn't hear who was following, and fucksake he couldn't even smell who was following him. He couldn't smell tobacco from a heavy smoker, couldn't smell carbolic from a woman's fingers, the wet wool of a mans suit, gunpowder remains on a sharpshooters shirt. Nothing.

Everyone had a scent. But this phantom didn't.

He gave an irritated shake of his head.

Tommy Shelby didn't fear the shadows. Shadows feared him.

He endured the feel of phantom footsteps behind him all the way through Watery to Garrison lane, until he relented and cut through a tight alley. There were no street lamps here, the only source of light being the mottled moonlight behind forming rain clouds.

"What business?" He said, giving his pursuer the chance to speak out and explain their intentions. There was silence.

A noticeable flicker of movement as a figure flitted beside him then the barrel of his gun was pressed under their jaw and he pushed them against the damp bricked wall, his free hand gripping the lapels on the woman's coat jacket.

Woman?

Surprise had caused his grip to slacken, and the woman had let out a relieved breath, not a startled or a fearful one.

"Who are you?" He said to the skeletal woman, he couldn't see much of her in the dark but eyes behind thick lashes, sharp edges and a thin silhouette were prominent under the aid of the moonlight. Her lips trembled and he wasn't sure if it was out of fear or because she was cold: because even through her many layers he could feel she was freezing. If death had been a walking woman she would have fit the bill.

She hadn't answered his question he realised, after surveying what he could of her appearance. The gun was pressed harder against her chin, and her eyes had showed a brief something, frustration? Still not fear.

"Tommy." She breathed out, his name leaving her lips with a familiar warmth that made him lower the gun.

She knew him? Did he know her?

He didn't think so.

His eyes were back to roaming over her, trying to come to some sort of conclusion. It wasn't until she pulled off one of her gloves and had moved to rub the underside of her rib with her right hand did he see the crooked pinky finger, the one she had broke when he had dared her to try climb a tree when she was 9. _Dorothea. It was Dorothea._

But she wasn't his Dotty, not the Dotty he remembered. This wasn't the radiant girl with eyes like emeralds, with a smile like butterflies, full of songs and giggles. This wasn't the girl that he had once thought was his forever, the girl that had ran away with some boy while he had gone to war. That girl was a distant memory.

The woman looking at him was a stranger.

"I need your help Tommy." She said, words pleading and serious. He was confused. Thunder rumbled in the skies above them and, even though the heavens had not long since settled, rain fell from the blackened clouds, showering the ground in a fine mist.

Her breath had hitched in pain and she shifted her weight onto one leg, leaning against the wall behind her for support. Wondering if he had hurt her, Tommy withdrew, but she shook her head dismissing his concern.

"I think i've pulled some stitches." said the woman, her lips tugged upwards into a shadowed smile that soon fell from her lips. It disappeared as her features pulled in the darkness and she let out a pained grunt, shifting her weight again. "Leg is still healing too."

The rain was slowly progressing. It was ricocheting heavily and soaking through both their clothing, slipping down their skin with a chill. Dorothea shuddered, pulling her coat tighter around her. Her eye makeup had started to streak down her face like blackened tears, with the rain Tommy couldn't tell if she were crying.

"I did a bad thing Tommy." She said, because he had been silent, processing everything she had said and done and looked like so far. Her voice was as haunting as a ghost; _she was a ghost._

The rain was just starting to numb him, but she had been trembling for some time and it didn't seem to be doing her injuries much good. They were not far from The Garrison pub, so with an irritable huff he told her to wait where she was and rounded the corner, entering the building and ordering everyone home. They did so without complaint, gathering their things and wrapping up well before heading out into the icy torrent of rain.

No one refused Tommy Shelby.

Tommy was glad that Arthur hadn't been in the pub like usual, he wasn't sure how he would have explained this, and he certainly wouldn't have wanted him to find out about Dorothea. The older Shelby brother would have told John, who would have told Ada who would have told Aunt Pol, and he didn't want anyone at all to know anything about her until he had figured out what was what himself.

When he ducked back out into the heavy rain that was battering the streets, back to the darkened alleyway, he found Dorothea passing something through her fingers. Something that glinted like metal. A blade.

By the time he had reached her she had tucked the weapon away neatly into the folds of the soggy fabric that was her coat. She did so in such a quick movement, that left him doubting whether it had even been between her fingers in the first place. He could feel his frustration building.

So many questions, and yet, he had been given no answers.

"Come on." Tommy said, tugging her arm and she let out a startled sound, that formed into a pained yell as she lost her footing. After he had steadied her she yanked her arm back harshly and he let go, but only because Dorothea was going to get herself noticed if she made anymore noise.

She then hooked the foot of her good leg under a shape on the floor, and as the shape flipped into the air, she snatched it with her hand. A cane, he hadn't even noticed it.

A brief thought entered his mind, how serious was her leg injury if she needed aid to walk? Was it an act? Surely he would have heard the cane against pavement or trailing of her injured leg?

He'd find out the truth behind it later, for now he needed to get her in the Garrison pub, out of the rain and away from the risk of being spotted by a passerby.

Tommy, shot her a look that said 'are you quite ready, can we get moving now?', it probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone else in the dark, but he had the feeling she'd see it fine.

Her hand not wrapped around the cane, curled around his arm, so small tucked into the joint, then in a voice much calmer than before she said "Lead the way".

The street was thankfully desolate as he pulled her out of the alleyway and she'd caused him no further trouble while they reached the pub. He opened the doors to the pub cocking his head in a gesture to tell her to head inside. When her hand fell from his arm and she floated past him, Tommy looked over his shoulder briefly, then closed the doors after him as he followed behind her.

In the soft lighting, Tommy could finally see her properly for the first time; but the sight of her almost made him wish they were back outside, in a place void of light, and her wrapped in shadows.

A scabbed cut above her eyebrow, another on her left cheek carved over the prominent bone and dripping down to her jawline, a mixture of red and black; blood and makeup streaking her face-though her crimson painted lips hadn't smudged in the slightest. Striking, in combination with her jewel tone eyes.

He knew the worst of the damage wasn't what was done to her face though. As she stripped herself of the heavy sodden garments; first the woolen coat and then her jacket and her vest, he noticed the discoloration around her throat, a pattern of yellow and purple bruises- _fingerprints_.

"What's going on Dotty?" Was what he was about to say after removing his own soaked jacket, when her hands; still wrapped in leather, suddenly pressed against the underside of her rib. Dorothea's white shirt was spotted with red and she groaned, her face paling as she pressed against the wound under her shirt.

"Shit!" She had cursed, rolling her shoulders back in agitation. He reached behind the bar for a bottle of rum and a rag setting them down on the table in front of her, settling into a wooden chair and folding his arms expectantly.

Dorothea had paused her inspection of herself, picking up the bottle then she had looked down at the blood on her shirt, then looked at him, her eyes resigned and lips pressed firmly together as she put it back down and pushed it towards him.

"I'm fine." She said, and of course he didn't believe her and from the look on her face, she didn't quite believe it either. She rolled her eyes then and amended the sentence, with a "well not exactly."

Tommy had almost wanted to smile then, until she said "I've survived worse though so a few loose stitches are nothing."

He remembered the fear in her eyes and the waver in her voice as Dorothea had said she needed his help.

"What did you do?" He asked her, and Dorothea had stiffened, turning away from him to stare at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"I fucked up is what I did."

Tommy ran his hands through wet hair and shook his head. Did she think he was going to wait around all night? Reaching for his pockets he produced a cigarette, and she turned back to him then just as he struck a match to light it.

"Can I have one? I'm all out."

He raised an eyebrow, but allowed her request, hoping she'd give some proper answers in return.

They were both silent for a moment, inhaling smoke, eyes watching each other until Tommy had enough of waiting, moving to the bar to get a glass and pouring a generous amount of rum into it as he sat back down and took a large gulp.

"So, what did you do?" He asked again, and Dorothea stopped her pacing, leaning on the cane in her hand and stretching her injured leg, rolling the cigarette to the corner of her mouth to speak.

"I saw darkness for what was it 5-6 years?"

"I looked right into the eyes of the devil."

Taking another drag from the cigarette she used her free hand to rake her bony fingers through her damp strands of hair, quickly dropping it upon realizing her sleeve had hiked up, giving Tommy Shelby a view of the start of what was a horrible burn scar. Dotty pulled the tab from her lips, it was smudged with a deep red pigment from her lips being pressed together in such a firm line.

Smoke swirled in the air around them as she spoke. "And you know what it did? Reached out and I handed it my soul."

Tommy shot her an unsatisfied glare.

"I don't have time for your pretty poetry Dorothea, I want to know where the fuck you've been, what the fuck happened, and why the fuck your back."

She had changed then, not like she hadn't changed so much already mind; but this was different, she was like a viper; poisonous and coiled ready to attack, her acid green eyes as sharp as her razored bones. The cigarette had been dropped to the floor, abandoned, it's embers still burning a soft orange.

"Pretty? There's nothing fucking pretty about any of this, at all." She seethed, her hands had flexed at her sides and she had needed to slip one of them into her trouser pocket and settle for squeezing the throat of the bird on her walking cane, knuckles prominent as the leathery gloves concealing her fingers stretched taut.

He recognised the look in her eyes; a look he'd seen in his own from time to time in a reflective surface, the need or want to hit something- to hurt something. When had she become so...when had she become whatever this was?

It was jarring when all of his previous memories had her bright eyed and smiling with ribbons in her long hair and pale pastel dresses draped over a gangly frame that hadn't caught up with itself yet.

"Dotty." He warned, holding her stare with one that was threatening enough to remind her of her place, but not anger her further. "Sit." He said, and after exhaling a breath she stomped out the cigarette now noticing it, it was the only thing at the moment she could kill, though it hardly did much to sate her mood. Then she slipped into a wooden chair, her cane placed on the table in front of her elbows and then she put her head in her hands.

"So where do you want me to start?" Dorothea's voice was a muffled whisper, though with them being the only two in the pub Tommy had easily heard it.

"The beginning Dotty, I want to know everything."


	3. Dorothea

**Dorothea**

 **She wished that she could have told him everything.** She wished that for once she could put everything out in the open; she had intended to at first, but seeing him face to face again after so long had changed everything.

Dorothea didn't want him to know everything. She didn't want him to know about The Ice Palace, about the things she had been forced to do, about the things she regretted and the things she should have regretted but didn't.

So, she had just told him what she needed him to know; that she had gotten mixed up with a bad crowd, found herself under contract working for the Dirtyhands gang and that her most recent job had turned sour, that she had killed someone she shouldn't have and now she needed him to help get her out of the firing line.

She had a feeling he knew that she wasn't giving him the full story, but if he did Tommy hadn't said so, in fact, he hadn't said anything at all.

He had been silent while she spoke, interrupting her not even once, but she could see anger burning in his eyes. Despite his cool and unbothered facade; he was furious. Then, his eyes which had been searching hers as she talked, sparking with the intensity of stuttering flames from a bonfire- drained cold. Maybe he had saw himself through the mirror of her eyes and not liked it, or maybe it was because she was staring at him; whatever it was it turned him into some kind of statue made of ice, and she couldn't help but shudder.

Dorothea told herself it was because of the rain; it was the weather and her injuries that had made her shake, but in reality it was probably because she had just realised that this wasn't her Tommy that she was speaking to. This Tommy was a dangerous stranger; and he was much more dangerous looking when he wasn't angry.

She thought maybe this was a mistake, actually it most definitely was a mistake; and she just hoped that it would turn out to be less of a mistake than everything she had done thus far.

After saying her bit, she closed her eyes and inhaled a long heavy breath, turning her head skyward and bracing herself for the blunt force of his words. She wished now that she hadn't given him the rum back, she could've done with a drink right about now.

"Tell me this is a fucking joke." _There it was_. His words were frostbitten, sharp and biting like a winter cold and yet spoken so casually as if he were asking for her favourite colour.

For a moment it was as if she were sitting with Benedict Hale in his office, and her shoulders jolted as she heard his glass hit the table.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was reminded where she was, who she was with; it was Tommy. _But it wasn't her Tommy._

And that made her nervous.

"I wish I could say it was." She breathed out just barely. Dorothea was suddenly aware of her exhaustion, she hadn't slept for the last two days, and compiled with the cold, with the wound on her side still bleeding and the weight of everything sitting upon her, she felt so very tired.

She wanted to climb into bed, pull the sheets over her head and wake up to discover that this was all just one very bad dream.

But it wasn't a bad dream, it was a nightmare; and it was all so very real.

"Benedict fucking Hale, Dorothea." Tommy's voice had raised ever so slightly, and she had looked into his eyes searching for the fire but they were still frosted over.

She sighed. He was hiding from her, just like she was from him.

"Benedict fucking Hale has a bounty on your head because you killed his brother and you want me to what? Pay it off?"

Now it was her turn to be silent. Now she was angry.

Did he think she'd killed the man for sport? It had been an in the moment thing, he wanted her dead and she was insistent on keeping her heart beating, it was the only thing she could have done to save herself. Maybe she should have let him run her through with his knife though, because what she thought was saving herself was actually guaranteeing her a worse fate.

She had to tell herself to try and bite her tongue from yelling this back at him, she needed Tommy on her side, she couldn't do this without him otherwise.

"Dirtyhands aren't my business Dorothea, do you know how much it'd cost if I were to make it my business?" His words were carefully pronounced, slow and emphasized like an adult reprimanding a child to make sure they understood the consequences of their actions.

This made her furious.

She was no child, _she was no idiot._

Dorothea knew he wouldn't bail her out even if she had batted her eyelashes and said some pretty words and flirted. Men like him, men like Benedict and the rest of the bosses of the most prolific gangs didn't do anything for free. Not even for a pretty face, and especially not unless they stood to gain something great from it.

The old Tommy perhaps might have done so for the old her, but he was no longer that boy; he wasn't the boy that had tugged on the ribbons in her hair, that had listened to her poetry and told her it was beautiful even though it made no sense and was absolutely dreadful, or the boy who had dared her to do stupid and reckless things-things that she had done without question because that Dotty had wanted to impress him.

He wasn't her Tommy, not the Tommy she remembered.

That Tommy was a fading memory.

The man looking at her now was a beautiful and cold stranger.

"Don't talk to me as if I'm a fool Thomas. I'm well aware of the cost and my worth." She said, making sure her words were as icy as his had been. She had shot up from her chair, ignoring the pain shooting through her side as the sutured wound stretched and leaned over the table to push into his personal space, leveling her eyes with his.

He blew smoke in her face and she gave a belligerent snarl, twisting away from him and taking his glass filled with rum with her.

"On my last job for him Benedict sent me to get some documents, very important information apparently, documents he didn't want just anyone getting their hands on." She explained, and it didn't take Tommy long to figure out her plan. She had just ducked the tip of her tongue into the liquid in the glass when he had realised.

"You want to bargain these documents for your head?" He raised a single eyebrow and she nodded her head a single time.

"Information is worth more than money Tommy."

* * *

Dorothea had no idea how she had ended up sitting in the dining room of the Shelby household with a frowning Polly, a curious Ada and the rest of the Shelby boys, minus Arthur all eyeing her.

She was starting to regret letting Tommy bring her back to his home, she'd only agreed in the first place because where else would she go, her old home? Definitley not.

It was much smaller than she remembered, but then she had grown and so had the rest of the Shelbys; 5 years had made a lot of difference.

She let her thoughts stray way back to when she was a girl, just barely a teenager and her and Tommy would joke that the younger ones were their own children and they were a happy married couple. Life had been so innocent and peaceful then, before life had been stolen from her and from him.

She tugged on her sleeves and cast Tommy a glance. The atmosphere in the room was irrefutably awkward.

"Where's Arthur?" Tommy had spoke aloud first, after a minute or so of hushed whispering to Polly. Usually she would have been able to pick up on the conversation easily, but at the moment she was too tired, and she settled with assuming that he was giving his aunt a diluted version of their conversation in The Garrison.

"Bed, too much drink." Ada had said, taking her eyes off Dorothea for a moment to look at her brother. Dorothea felt uncomfortable sat beside her, she had been ushered into a chair by the girl almost immediately, and her pretty features that were pulled into concern wouldn't leave her alone. Compared to the polished girl, Dorothea knew she looked a state, damp hair and non standard clothing, all bloodied up and with ruined makeup-no wonder they were all staring.

Polly took matters into her own hands all at once, remarkably sending Finn and John off elsewhere and telling Ada to fetch a needle and thread. The younger Shelbys had barely kicked up a fuss and left immediately. Dorothea felt like she could breathe again once the unwanted eyes on her had lifted; she much preferred to be invisible than the center of attention.

"So I suppose Dot will be staying with us for a little while?" Polly had asked, pausing from making tea to look pointedly at Tommy.

Dorothea noticed it was an unhappy look and that Tommy had pretended to ignore it while he lit a new cigarette.

"It's business."

"It always is with you," Polly sighed in response, rolling her eyes at his words and shaking her head as she set a teacup down in front of Dorothea.

Tommy glared at the older woman before turning to look at her, he had barely done so after bringing her to the house and just now he was noticing her biting her lip and pressing both hands to her side. Red was starting to seep through her fingers.

Ada returned just in time, with the thread and needle, and Dorothea had found herself tensing when she heard Tommy speak again. "Clean her up will you Pol?"

"I can do it myself." She said through gritted teeth, and she had heard an uncertain noise from Ada who was pawing through the sewing kit ,and a clucking sound from Polly who completely disagreed. The mothering quality to the gesture made her bristle, it was foreign to her ears and directed toward her made her feel uncomfortable.

Polly set a bowl of clean water and a cloth on the table, and Dorothea reached for the cloth, soaking it in water before scrubbing her face clean of dirt and removing the dried blood from her scratches.

"Ada, set up a space for Dot in your room." Polly had said, ushering the young girl away again and then nudging Tommy with and elbow too.

"You can make yourself useful elsewhere too, this here's women's business."

Tommy hadn't looked like he wanted to leave the room, but Dorothea was glad that he eventually did. She needed to stitch her wound back up and she couldn't do that without taking off her shirt, not like that was the part that bothered her though, it was more the fact that she probably had just as much scars from her scuffles as a war veteran. And that was something she didn't want Tommy to ever see.

Then she realised that that was why Polly had sent everyone else away, she had figured out something was up when Dorothea hadn't even so much as peeled up the hem of her shirt to peek at the bleeding wound. If her memory served her right, Dorothea noted that the woman had always been so perceptive, she saw and heard more than most people would because she paid attention to little things that no one else bothered too.

"You do need help don't you?"

Dorothea looked up at the woman who had her hands placed on her hips in an 'i told you so' manner. She did need help but didn't want to admit it, she didn't like the idea of not being able to do something for herself, which was why she had hated that she needed to come back here.

"I remember when you were young, Tommy was always bringing you in here to get patched up cause you were scared to tell your parents you'd hurt yourself mucking about with the boys."

She knew that Polly was only trying to make her feel more at ease, but she couldn't help but want to yell out that she wasn't that girl, not anymore.

Her breath came out shaky as she pulled her hands away from her side, she felt a warm trickle slip down her skin and winced.

"Come on then lets take a look at you." The other woman's voice was gentle, coaxing and this time Dorothea didn't feeling like fighting the woman when she offered her help.

Unfastening her shirt she waited for Polly to make a comment.

The woman didn't, taking the cloth from Dorothea and then soaking it in alcohol to clean around the stitches.

Pain shot through her side and she gripped the table with her knuckles, biting her tongue to muffle her cry. Polly apologized and then next time gave warning before dabbing lighter at the wound.

"You won't tell Tommy?" She muttered, through gritted teeth as Polly measured out thread for the needle.

She knew there was no need to ask Polly to keep her scars secret, but for her own piece of mind she had needed to hear the woman say so aloud.

"Every woman has a right to keep her own secrets, so long as those secrets don't get anyone hurt."

The warning wasn't outright but Dorothea understood it; don't get Tommy more involved than he needs to be. She responded with a nod, and then they had fell into silence while Polly focused on fixing her up with neat stitches.


	4. Tommy & Dotty

**That night the Shelby household was plagued with monsters.**

Tommy's monsters lurked in the tunnels. The moment he closed his eyes and lay down his head he was back there, in the tunnels with no end, the tunnels full of darkness and dirt and death, full of madness and monsters. Monsters of war.

The monsters would scream, they would shout and they would cry. Monsters that wore the faces of men, the faces of his friends and neighbours and family.

The monsters were covered in dirt and blood and ash, framed by fire.

 _He was one of them._

* * *

Dorothea looked around, and all she could see was white.

White walls.

White floors.

White windows.

And outside of the windows white sky.

Her breath hitched and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She was cold. So very cold.

 _Get out of here_. She told herself, and took a step forward. Her feet sank into the floor, toes numbing and soles painfully cold; she looked down in alarm. She was walking on snow.

There was a sudden chill and goosebumps prickled her skin. She shivered.

Dorothea's toes had become ice cubes. She had to wiggle them, curling them against the frozen floor to remind herself that there was still warmth circulating through her, that the tiny appendages were not actually frozen.

But it was becoming harder and harder for her to hold onto that reality.

She continued to walk and cold flooded through her being like dread, the hallway seemed to be never ending, stretching out further away from her every time she tried to hurry towards it.

Her joints were starting to stiffen as she curled her toes again whilst she walked, slower this time with fear of them snapping off before she could even finish her walk through the corridor with it's temperature dramatically decreasing.

The snow started to melt, turning to slush under her feet.

She looked down and saw red.

Her feet were covered in the sticky substance, painting the floor pink with every step she took.

She shrieked and ran, but the bloodied footsteps followed her creating a path up the walls and the ceiling, where faces emerged, and hands reached out, and she swatted them away trying desperately to open the locked door in front of her, desperately wanting to free herself from these monsters.

But the door would not open and she was forced to hear the sudden sound of screaming from the faces.

And then she realised she recognized these faces.

They were all the people she had killed.

Some of them guilty, and some innocent, who had just been collateral or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then she realised once more, the monster was not them, but her.

* * *

She woke with heaving gasps, expecting to have woken Ada, but the girl it seemed was a heavy sleeper. She hadn't stirred in the slightest.

The chill reminiscent from her nightmare had numbed her and she lay frozen, unable to move.

Dorothea lay in her made up bed, staring up at the ceiling and then around herself, watching the shadows that were moving to consume everything as the night got darker. Her eyes focused on a sleeping Ada for a moment, enviously watching the woman whose breaths were gentle, without a single trace of terror.

Dorothea couldn't remember the last time she had slept so soundly.

Before the war maybe?

Probably.

She thought some more about lots of things, about her childhood with the Shelbys, about her family; before she had settled for bed Ada had told Dorothea of what was left of the Bell family, because there were not many that remained.

Just her little sister Cora and her mother.

Dorothea almost found it amusing how the women in their family were the only ones left standing, but then her father had always said that the Bell ladies were stronger than anything.

Perhaps the actual truth was that the Bell women were cursed to bring death to the men around them; Ada had told Dorothea that when her mother had fell ill, it had caused her father to drink himself to death, Cora's husband had died shortly after they married and Dorothea knew that her brother was dead because of her.

With this thought playing on her mind, Dorothea settled on the decision to get the hell out of Small Heath.

She was stupid for coming here and bringing her mess to the Shelby's, not when she'd be bringing them more trouble than they were already dealing with. Tommy had a good thing going here in his Kindgom, and she didn't want to be the cause of it crumbling.

Slipping out from under her bedsheets, she grabbed her trousers and tucked the nightgown Ada had lent her into them, then rummaged to find her vest, jacket and coat. She was careful and quiet, not wanting to ruin Polly's neat stitches and not wanting to wake up the rest of the Shelbys.

But one was already awake, and evidently waiting for her.

Tommy Shelby caught sight of a shadow sliding down the stairway and knew it was her.

"Off somewhere?"

He called out to her, watching as the dark shadow stilled before turning slowly towards him.

"Felt light taking a late night walk." She spoke so easily, right off bat without a moments hesitation.

Tommy was no fool, and he knew her actual intentions. She had changed her mind, decided to deal with her business alone and was going to leave.

Foolish, he thought, but maybe it was because he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

Nevertheless he nodded, accepting her explanation.

She hesitated glancing towards the door and back at him.

"Drink?" He asked as he lifted his own glass of whisky, not outright asking her to stay, and not telling her to be on her way either.

She took some time to respond, glancing at the door before nodding back at him.

Part of him wanted to smile, knowing Dorothea's nod was answering his unasked question. She was going to stay.

He didn't smile, because as she sat down beside him, checking the drink he had poured for poison, he remembered that this was not his Dotty.

"Where were you planning to take a walk Dotty?"

He asked and she shrugged, sipping gingerly on her drink, allowing the warm liquid to melt away the icy remnants of her nightmare.

"You're old home?" He suggested with a quirk of a brow and she scoffed, shaking her head with immediate refusal.

"I'm never going back there Tommy. Do you really think my family will want to see me like this?"

She gestured to the mess that she was with a breath of a laugh.

"No," She answered the question herself." They deserve better."

"But you want to see them." He said around his smoke, throwing Dorothea off guard.

"I..." She paused, and thought about it. Did she want to see them? Was that a part of her reason for coming here in the first place.

"Perhaps."

She swallowed the remainder of her drink before reaching for the bottle to pour another.

"But it would be selfish of me, if I were to involve myself with them again i'd only put them in danger."

"So you plan to hide yourself while you're here?"

Dorothea shrugged.

"if I have too. I'd much rather they believe a pretty lie than know an ugly truth."

Tommy nodded, because part of him was inclined to agree with her.

"You better be damn well good at hiding then."


End file.
